“Shoot,” Kat says.

“Who is Brian Tallman?”

Kat and I glance at each other and then roll our eyes.

“Did Cami give you his number?” I ask, then glare at the woman herself as she bounces happily into the room, then stops short when she sees us staring at her.

“What?” Her blue eyes widen innocently, but I know better. She isn’t innocent. “What did I do?”

“Did you seriously give Marcy your ex-husband’s phone number?” Kat demands.

“He’s your ex-husband?” Marcy asks with disgust. “Ew!”

“Like I told you, he’s a really nice guy,” Cami says. “He’s just looking for the right girl.”

“You do not need to be the one to find him that nice girl,” I tell her for the hundredth time since their divorce last year. “There’s no reason to try to set him up, Cam. He’s good looking, has a stable job, and isn’t a complete asshole. Those are most women’s requirements right there.”

“I know, but his women picker is so skewed,” she replies with a frown, and Kat and I both gape at her.

“Uh, Cami, he picked you,” Kat reminds her.

“Exactly!” Cami throws her hands up and paces in front of the bar in agitation.

“Is she okay?” Marcy whispers to me. I simply nod, then shrug.

Because she’s a bit wacky when it comes to Brian.

“I was not right for him.”

“Does that mean your man picker is skewed too? You married him,” Marcy points out, earning a sober stare from Cami.

“I shouldn’t have married him. But he’s a great person. He deserves someone beautiful and sweet and loving.”

“And he will find her,” Kat says as she wipes down the bar. “It’s just not your job to find her for him.”

“I’m going back to work,” Marcy says before returning to the dining room.

“Seriously, Cam,” I say, “stop trying to pawn off your ex-husband on my waitresses.”

“And my bartenders.” Kat points at Cami, driving her point home.

“Fine.” She sits on the stool next to mine. “The back of your top is pretty. Only you can pull something like this off.”

I grin at my friend. “Thanks.” The front of the gray top is quite modest, showing little cleavage, although it is clingy. But the back is wide open, hanging down in a swoop to the top of the small of my back. The sides are held together by three spaghetti straps in the center.

“I have to know,” Cami says softly, leaning in. “How do you keep your boobs up? You’re too busty to not wear a bra.”

“I want to know too,” Kat says with a nod.

“It’s a stick-on bra,” I inform them with a smile. “It holds me up, with stickies on the sides and underneath.”

“That’s like ripping duct tape off your skin.” Cami recoils and cringes. “Ouch.”

“Watch your nipples,” Kat says with both brows raised. “You don’t need to rip those off when you take it off.”

“I’ve done this before,” I assure them with a laugh and pull my hair back, covering most of what the top shows. Oh my God, my friends are funny. “And it’s not as strong as duct tape. But even if it were, it doesn’t cover the nipples.”

“Did I just hear you talking about your nipples?” a voice asks from behind me, making every hair on my body stand on end.

God, I fucking love his voice.

“We’re looking out for you,” Kat informs him. “She’s trying to rip them off.”

I roll my eyes and spin on my stool to face him. “I’m not trying to rip them off.”

“Good. I have plans for them later.” His green eyes smolder as he looks me over from my hair, which I have down in wavy curls, to my navy blue heels.

“I just bet he does,” Cami says to Kat. I ignore her, but the nipples in question pucker at the thought.

Jesus, I hope he has plans for them sooner rather than later!

He steps to me and cages me in against the bar, his face inches from mine. He smells like his shower gel, and I want to just wrap my arms around him and bury my nose in his neck.

So I do. I hear both Kat and Cami’s awws, but I ignore them, soaking him in. I just saw him last night, but I didn’t get any alone time with him.

And I’m not alone with him now.

But I just need to feel him against me, just for a minute.

“Are you okay, baby?” he whispers into my ear, only for me to hear.

“I’m so okay,” I reply and pull back, but his hands stay on me, stroking up and down my back, not helping the puckered-nipple situation in the least.

“You’re missing half of your shirt,” he says mildly, but his eyes are on fire. I’m not the only one turned on.

“I’ll look for it later.”

I WAS RIGHT. Last night was busy, but tonight is busier, and there is a one-hour waiting time for seating.

And Jake is singing his heart out onstage. The older Matchbox Twenty song is perfect for his raspy voice. He glances up and pins me with those eyes, then offers me a slow, wide smile, making my toes curl in these heels.

God, he turns me inside out.

“Miss?” A woman flags me down from her table.

“How can I help you?” I ask politely, trying to ignore the sexy rock star onstage.

“We placed our order already, but I wanted to make sure the waitress noted the no pine nuts on my husband’s salad. He’s severely allergic.”

“I’ll double-check for you,” I tell her and walk into the kitchen, where Mia is barking orders and bustling about like crazy.